Just A Blinking Red Light
by McTuckerAddict
Summary: Sometimes, a hero comes in many forms. Craig never thought his hero would have blonde hair and a lip ring, but that's the card he happened to be dealt. A stupid poetry project brings Kenny and Craig together in ways they never thought were possible. (A/N: this story is a rewrite of one of my old stories, Poison. its not the same one, but they are very similar. hope you enjoy!)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Chapter Track: When the Day Met the Night- Panic! At the Disco

"I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea to go into honors English in my junior year. Why the hell didn't anyone stop me? I always thought everyone was being dramatic when they said junior year was going to be the hardest, but now I realize they were right. Not only do I have an essay due on Monday, which is only a week before my first SAT, but Mrs. Dicklick also assigned us a poetry project due on Monday." Craig sighs, rubbing a hand through his dark hair. He lets his gaze drop, toying with a loose thread coming from a rip in the knees of his jeans.

"That was mean. Mrs Dixon isn't a dick, she just sucks at planning. Plus, it's not like it's her job to pay attention to the SATs. But, she did assign us partners. That's not even the worst of it: I got assigned to Kenny McCormicklight." He looks up in exasperation, his gray eyes widened slightly for emphasis.

"Can you believe that! Kenny. Out of everyone in my class, I got assigned to Kenny. Kenny shows up late every single morning to homeroom, smelling like the cheap cigarettes he smokes all the time. Not to mention the fact that the things that come out of his mouth are barely intelligible because of that dumb fucking bandana he wears. And he's always dicking around in class with his dumbass friends.. He's so irresponsible, I wouldn't be surprised if I had to do the whole fucking thing on my own. I would have taken anyone else for fucks sake. Even Kyle holier-than-thou Broflovski. At least with him I wouldn't be guaranteed fail." Fiddling with the left arm of his glasses, Craig rubs the piercing in his tongue over the roof of his mouth, trying to think of what else to say.

"But, I fucking suck at writing poetry. Thank god it's only part of the unit. Reading it is fine, I can do that well enough. But I'm totally fucked if I have to write any of my own shit. I just hope-"

"Craig! Mom says to stop talking to yourself and come downstairs! You're going to be late for school if you don't leave soon!"

"Fuck, Ruby, shut the hell up! I'll be down in a minute!" Craig shouts back, rolling his eyes. His gaze slides back to his old video camera, which he watches for a moment before speaking once more. "I guess I have to go now. Over and out." He has it propped up on a stack of textbooks and boxes, due to the fact that he doesn't have the money to afford any proper equipment for the poor thing. He slides his glasses back over his eyes and reaches forward, clicking the record button. The weak red light stops blinking and Craig saves the video to his memory card, popping it out of the slot and slipping it into an old Nintendo game case. Then jams the case into an empty guitar case and stashes it at the back of his closet, behind some of his baseball equipment. He can't have anyone finding this. If anyone were to see his video diaries he thinks he'd drop dead.

Pulling his hat on over his black hair, he glances at himself in the full-length mirror beside his bed for a moment. Worn out black Vans, rumpled and ripped jeans, a faded yellow t-shirt, gray sweatshirt, angled face, thin lips, long nose, sunken eyes. He scowls. Jogging down the rickety attic stairs and out the front door, he grunts a curt goodbye to his family before heading off. He lets the cool October air wash over him, sinking through his sweatshirt and jeans. He always walks to school. He finds it kind of calming. It's the time of day when things aren't really awake yet, no one's around him, it's cool out, no one's around him, the sun hasn't fully risen yet, no one's around him. It's his peaceful interlude between the craziness of his house and the craziness of school.

Craig was never much of a people person, so being in school has always been hard for him. He has a small, close-knit group of friends and that's more than enough for him. His best friends, Clyde and Token, have always been good with people, but not Craig. Craig always enjoyed his own company. Nice and boring, exactly the way he likes it to be. Crowds give him a lot of anxiety, though he'd never in a million years admit this to anyone. Well, anyone but his camera.

Pushing past the front doors, he shoves his way to his locker and spins the lock, searching the crowd for his friends. They usually meet up before they head to their home rooms, but they might be running late. Since Token recently got his license everyone has been mooching rides off him, so he usually drives them all in; but Clyde has a tendency to sleep through his alarm, making them both late. Oh well, it's not like he'll never get to see them. He slams his locker and proceeds through the rest of his morning, meeting up with Clyde in first period then Token and Tweek in fourth. He walks with Jimmy to English, dreading every moment of it. He complains the whole way to Jimmy's American History class, where his friend offers an encouraging smile before leaving.

"Goddammit.." Craig mutters, his shoulders sagging as he looks down the hall to his class.

Today is the day they're supposed to use to write a rough draft of their poem, which means Craig will have to spend some of his valuable time with Kenny McCormick. A deep frown forms on Craig's face, his eyes darkening as his fingers tighten around the straps of his backpack. He slides into his seat in the back of the classroom noiselessly, tucking his face into the fabric of his sweatshirt. He doesn't want to do this. Not only does he suck at writing poetry, but he sucks at talking to people. Anyone outside of his immediate friend group is an issue for him, which makes group projects like this literal hell. The bell rings loudly in Craig's ears and everyone quiets down, settling into their desks and pulling out their supplies.

"Okay everyone!" Mrs. Dixon says cheerily, clapping her hands together. She was a pretty fun teacher; at least, before she assigned this project. She's kind of a hippie, always wearing skirts that sweep all the way to the floor and talking in a soft little voice. Craig raises his head slightly to listen to her, laying his cheek on his arm. "Time to meet up with your partners. Today is the only class day you will get to use for this project; everything else is to be done on your free time. Feel free to move around the room." With that, she offers everyone a smile before turning back to her desk, leaving her students to roam freely around the classroom.

Craig isn't moving. Kenny can get his ass up and come to Craig. The raven buries his face back into the cozy sleeves of his sweatshirt, closing his eyes to try and block out some of the chatter already beginning to circulate around him.

A hesitant tap on his shoulder makes him jump slightly.

"Uh, hi," Kenny says, his words muffled by the bandana he uses to cover his face. Craig allows his eyes to wander over his new partner, taking in everything about his appearance; stark blue eyes, freckles dusted over the bridge of a crooked nose, brown bandana stretched across pale cheeks, orange hooded sweatshirt, the hint of a gray shirt laying just below his collarbone, jeans with numerous stains and rips in them, and a pair of grungy white Converse. Kenny shifts under his glassy gaze, feeling as though he's under a spotlight. Sighing, Craig lifts his head from his arms fully and sits up, offering a short grunt in greeting to the blonde. He doesn't want to do this, and he certainly doesn't want to do it with Kenny McCormick.

Kenny pulls a spare desk closer to Craig's, sliding into the seat and placing his backpack at his feet before he begins to pull his books from inside. Craig watches intently, his head cocked slightly to the side.

"So, uh.. You got any ideas about what our poem should be about..?" Kenny asks softly, his voice hesitant. Craig shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck to massage away the crick.

"I'm not a poet."

"Really?" Kenny asks, baffled. Craig quirks an eyebrow in question. A mischievous smile grows on the blonde's face, the crinkles around his eyes giving it away immediately. "You look the part. Thick black glasses, bags under the eyes, 'Woe is me' attitude-"

"Fuck you. At least I don't look like some street rat." Craig spits, rolling his eyes. Kenny's grin disappears just as quickly as it came.

"God, what the hell is your problem?" He hisses, folding his arms over his chest. "I was just joking around, shit. You don't have to be so serious all the time, you know." He looks down for a moment, dirty nails picking at a hole in his jeans near his knee. "And I don't look like a street rat, asswipe. I don't get your damage with me. 'S not like I do anything to you."

"No, but your Neanderthal friends do. And you just stand by and fucking watch." Kenny's expression softens slightly as he hears this, and Craig shrinks in his seat, arms folded across his chest. Way the hell was he thinking? What does yelling at Kenny accomplish? Nothing. Fucking nothing. It sure as hell doesn't stop what's happening to him, and it sure as hell won't make Kenny want to help him. Craig scoffs under his breath. Yeah. Like he'd ever want Kenny's help.

"Let's just get this the fuck over with, okay? I need a good grade on this project, with or without you." Kenny pauses for a moment, unsure if he should just brush away what Craig had just said.

The look Craig gives him tells him he should. He clears his throat, opening to a new page in his notebook.

"So, what would you want to write about?"

"I don't know. Like I said, I'm no poet. I don't like to write at all, actually." Craig says quietly, keeping his eyes trained on his desk. Kenny falls silent for a moment in thought.

"Well, what do you like? What are some of your hobbies?" Craig scrolls through his small list of likes and dislikes, rolling a few around in his mind before he decides that he can't decide on one that would be fitting for this situation. He shrugs, leaning on his fist

"Okay..." Kenny scribbles in his notebook, his handwriting loopy and tight. Craig cranes his neck to see, and Kenny slides it away from him. The raven's brows pull together, his nose wrinkling. Probably just porn or something stupid like that in that book. He sighs, shaking his head.

"I'm really not good at this sort of thing, dude." He says again, feeling like a broken record. He finds himself saying that sort of thing all the time nowadays. Kenny glances up at him once again, his gaze pleading. Craig rolls his eyes. "..Does it have to rhyme?"

"Not if we don't want it to."

"Good. Rhyming is for dicks." Kenny cracks a small smile, leaning into the aisle between the desks to get closer to Craig. The rest of class is spent with them talking, trying to figure out what to write about, though they never actually write anything. They agree to meet at Craig's house to keep working at it (because Kenny won't just do the damn project alone, even though Craig's help would probably bring the grade down anyway). Craig keeps his eyes glued to Kenny's notebook, and every time Kenny notices him staring he covers more and more of the thing.

"What the fuck is in there that you're so fucking protective of?" Craig finally asks, feeling frustrated as Kenny once again yanks it just out of his view. The blonde laughs, slapping the cover closed just as the bell rings.

"Write me a poem by the time I get to your place and you'll find out." He says, shouldering his backpack and walking out of the room. Craig feels dumbfounded, almost like he got smacked in the face.

...it's just a notebook, right?

Shit. Now Craig has to write a poem.

Craig decides that he hates poetry. He hates his room, he hates us desk, he hates his computer, and he sure as fucking hell hates the little blue line that won't stop blinking at him on the screen. He groans, slamming his laptop closed and stalking over to his bed. He's been trying this for two hours now, and he still has nothing. Kenny is supposed to show up in an hour, and he has nothing. Nothing won't get him a look into Kenny's mysterious Gray Notebook.

And now he has to look in that fucking notebook or he's going to explode.

Flopping onto his bed, Craig closes his eyes for a moment, clearing his mind. It's okay. He can do this. He's gotten this far, right? That's gotta count for something. He's also pretty sure Kenny was mumbling about what he does when he needs to get something done for school. Something about actually physically writing instead of doing it on a computer, and how that feels ten times more fulfilling or something dumb like that.

Whatever. Craig will try anything at this point.

He rummages through his backpack for a moment before pulling out his English notebook and flipping to a new page, propping it up on his pillow as he searches for a pen as well. He stares at it for a moment, blinking as though the words will just magically appear on the pages. Glaring, he lays back on his bed, staring at the little stars peppered all over his ceiling. He remembered how hard it was to get the tiny things up there. He'd saved his allowance for weeks to buy enough to cover his whole ceiling, and Tweek and Token had to help put them up. They took turns standing on each other's shoulders to reach, and after a few falls they were up. They still glow in the dark, despite being there since Craig was a little kid.

Craig loves stars. He loves space in general, actually, and he has since he could remember. Maybe he could write about that?

Sighing, he pulls the notebook back and flips onto his stomach, leaning his hand on his fist as he tries to concentrate.

By the time Kenny actually gets to Craig's, the raven has a short little thing written down. He's not even sure if Kenny will count it; it's only five lines long. But, he did put a lot of effort into doing it. Hopefully it'll be enough. Feeling hesitant, Craig pulls open his front door to a seemingly excited Kenny.

"What's got you so happy?" Craig mutters, nodding towards the stairs. Kenny steps inside, wiping his sneakers on the mat.

"No mere mortal has ever entered the Tucker house and lived." Kenny answers simply, shrugging. Craig rolls his eyes. "Whatda'ya got for me, Tucker?" Kenny asks, the grin visible on his face as he follows Craig up to his bedroom. Craig figured it would be better for them to work up there, since his family would be getting home from Ruby's cross country meet any moment. The last thing Craig needs is to be embarrassed. Or worse.

Craig sits on the floor in front of his bed and rubs at the back of his neck, pulling his notebook off his pillow. "It's stupid.." He starts, chewing on the inside of his lip and toying with the spine of the notebook. Kenny shakes his head, pulling the book away from the raven. "Hey, don't-" Kenny pulls his bandana away from his mouth and begins, his voice light and clear. Craig cringes.

"The Stars hold the truth

To each of humanity's questions.

They spell them out in pictures and shapes

Each dancing across the night sky.

We just don't speak their language."

The blonde blinks and looks down at Craig. "This is, like, really good, dude." He says, grinning widely. "I didn't know you had it in you." Craig keeps his eyes trained to the floor as blush floods his cheeks, creeping over his ears and down his neck as well.

"It- um.." He clears his throat, picking at his nail. "It wasn't as hard as I thought it was. I wrote it in like five minutes..."

"You're a really shitty liar, but this is still really good." Kenny says, a joking tone in his voice; Craig can't help the tiny smile that pulls at his lips. "We could use something like this if you want. It'll be easier to write about something you like."

"Ugh, no. I don't wanna be a cliche, asshole. There are way too many poems about space and shit like that."

"Okay." Kenny says, moving to sit down next to Craig. "Then what do you suggest we write about?"

"I don't know. What do you like?"

"Music, painting, movies.. Lots of stuff."

"What about movies, then? I love movies." Craig proposes, pulling his notebook out of Kenny's hands once the blonde agrees. "And you told me I could see your stupid book if I wrote this goddamn thing, so pay up McCormick. Hand it over." Kenny seems stricken by this, as though he'd forgotten about their deal.

"Goddammit.." He mutters, reaching to retrieve his backpack.

Fucking finally. This is exactly what Craig had wanted, what Craig had worked for over the past few hours. He can't help the devious smile that pulls over his face as Kenny produces the mysterious Gray Notebook and holds it against his chest. Craig reaches for it, and Kenny jerks it away from him.

"What?" Craig asks, impatient. Kenny pleads with him silently, his eyes begging for something that Craig can't understand. "What is it, asshole?"

"Just.." The blonde pulls in a deep breath, preparing himself to speak. He looks like he expects Craig to punch him. "I'm not actually going to show you what's in this... I was never really going to show you."

"..what? Why the hell not?"

"I never thought you'd actually _do_ what I told you to, let alone that you'd still want to read it!" Kenny says, standing. Craig's eyes flare and he sucks air into his lungs through tight lips; he can't believe he fucking fell for that bullshit.

Then again, it's just a notebook. It might have something in it that Kenny doesn't want everyone to see. If someone found Craig's collection of flash drives, the ones containing all his video diaries, he would feel the same way. He's been making those things since he was nine, which would mean he has about seven or so years of his deepest thoughts and feelings on them. If someone were to watch them without his permission- which no one on the face of the earth has- he'd have to throw himself off a cliff somewhere.

"Fine. Let's just get this stupid fucking project done." He says, his tone back to its usual monotone. Kenny seems relieved.

"Perfect." The blonde says, his grin returning as he tucks the book back into his backpack. "And, thanks."

"If you mention this to anyone, I'll rip your balls off and give them to your little sister as a gift."

"Jeez, touchy. Fine, I won't tell anyone that you actually do have a heart, tin man."

By the time Kenny says he has to leave, they've essentially completed the project. Craig said he'd edit it on his computer and print it out, so that he can bring it in on Monday morning. The sooner this stupid thing is out of his life, the better. He figured he'd drop it off before homeroom. He spends a bit of time typing it before pushing it away, the light burning into his eyes. At least it's Friday, so he won't have to get up early in the morning.

He feels the familiar feeling deep in his chest, like a string tugging him through a dense crowd. He wants to talk. He gets this way after stressful days. Cracking his knuckles, he begins to set up his camera in its usual spot, perched beside his bed on the nightstand. He balances it on a stack of books, clicking in the memory card after retrieving it from his closet. Perfect. Right where it's supposed to be.

Smiling, he stares at the blinking red light as he begins to speak.

"Hi again," he starts, his tone relaxed and comfortable. Doing this has always makes him feel better, like finally getting to the safety of your home in a rainstorm. "It's almost one o'clock in the morning, but i've never woken anyone doing this. I figured it was okay. I never really understood how the whole rest of my family are morning people, especially when there's so much more to do at night.." He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. He feels like he's done that a lot today.

"It turns out that working with Kenny wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be, even if he was a total asshole and lied about the notebook thing. I guess it made me work, and it got the project done. So it's not all bad. And, as it turns out, I actually really like what we wrote about. I'm excited to turn it in and see how well we do." He turns to glance at the clock, yawning. He slides his glasses off his eyes and pulls his hat off as well, setting them both on the night stand beside his camera. "I guess I've gotta go now, but it was pretty nice talking. Even if it was only for a few minutes. Over and out." Craig reaches forward, clicking the record button and watching as the light slowly stops blinking.

Now that he's done that, he feels like the day has truly concluded. He makes video diaries every day; getting everything off his mind helps him fall asleep. Though, for some reason, he can't seem to stop thinking about what's in Kenny's notebook that he was so sensitive about. The raven shrugs to himself, pulling his pants and shirt off and slipping under his covers. He's so tired he's asleep before his head even hits the pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Find Another Route

Chapter Track: I Told You I Was Mean by Elle King

"So I finished editing that stupid poem thing," Craig says, pulling his laptop from his desk onto his bed. He taps on the mousepad for a moment to wake it up, watching their poem bloom back to life. "I know I've definitely said talked about this before, about how much I hate poetry. Even reading someone else's poetry is aggravating to me. I can muddle through it to pass a test, but I'd never pick up a book of it in a million years. It just seems so... Fake, I guess. But, I actually kind of like it. Ours, I mean. I'm not sure if it's because I worked so hard on it with Kenny, or if it's because it's actually not that bad... I like it a lot." He shrugs to the screen, saving the document to a flash drive.

"I have to go all the way downstairs to print it, but Tweek wanted to hang out so I have no excuse to stay cooped up in my room all day today. I guess I'll just stay cooped up in Tweek's shop."

Tweek has worked at their local Harbucks since they were all thirteen, when his parents bought the shop back. Since then, they leave him to manage this store while they tend to the main one in Denver. Which essentially just means that Craig is allowed to loiter there as long as he damn well pleased.

"I've gotta go check what time the dinner thing is with mom before I leave. Over and out." Craig says his usual goodbye and reaches over to his camera, clicking it off and popping out the memory card. After hiding it properly and getting himself dressed, he jogs downstairs and prints the poem, sticking it into his backpack before locations his mom in the kitchen. She's sitting at the nook with a magazine laid in front of her and her phone held to her ear.

"Hey mom," he says, pulling out the seat beside her. She holds up her hand, pointing to her cell phone and mouthing "one minute." Craig relaxes into the chair while he waits.

When he first moved to South Park, it was only him an his dad. His birth mom had left them right after he was born, and he only sees her about once a year, on Valentine's Day. They moved from Brooklyn to South Park to live with his dad's brother and his family, who now live across the street from them. When his dad first met Laura, when he was five years old, he didn't want a different mom; not that his was really one to begin with, but it was all he knew. They had Ruby soon after they got married, which only pissed Craig off even more. Now, almost twelve years later, he's grateful they got married. She's the mom he never knew he wanted.

"Yeah, mom, I know," She says, laughing and rolling her eyes. "Mmhm, of course. Gotta go. Love you." She pulls the phone away from her ear, tapping the screen and turning to Craig. "What is it, honey?"

"I'm going to hang out with Tweek. What time are we going to dinner?" He asks, toying with the zipper of his sweatshirt. Every Saturday, the whole Tucker family goes to their favorite diner for dinner. That means everyone; aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents.

"Well, we usually go around six, but Uncle Eddie has a doctor's appointment so we have to go a little later. So be back here by six thirty the latest." Mom says, smoothing the corner of her magazine down to save her place as she stands to make herself a cup of coffee. "Don't forget, we have to pick up grandma this week. Her car is in the shop."

"Okay, I won't be long." Craig says, hopping off his chair. He presses a quick kiss to her cheek before walking outside, pulling his phone out of his back pocket to text Tweek that he's on his way.

He pulls in a deep breath of autumn air, watching as a gust of wind blows some colorful leaves in a circle. He's always loved the fall; it's been his favorite since he was a kid. He remembers being in New York in October, walking along the boardwalk with his dad. They used to sell all kinds of fair foods there; pretzels, corn dogs, ices, funnel cakes. All kinds of things like that. But his favorite was always the caramel apples they had because some of them would be decorated as jack o'lanterns for Halloween, which of course is why he'd beg for them all the time. Those ones were special, they only came around once a year.

"Hey, it's Craig Fucker." The raven is startled out of his thoughts by a teasing voice, sending shivers down his spine. He turns his attention to the source of the sound, the color draining from his face.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He forgot that assholes hang out around Stark's on the weekends, right after football practice ends. Which would be only an hour before now. Stan Marsh saunters over to him from his spot on a bench beside the lake, three of his football monkeys trailing behind him. The kid wasn't right after his parents split for good a few years back, and Craig can already smell the booze on his breath. It's only one o'clock in the afternoon, but he doesn't dare point that out.

"What do you want, Marsh." Craig mumbles, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Stan rolls his eyes and shoves Craig hard in the shoulder, sending him stumbling backwards. Stan is much bigger than Craig, trumping him in both height and weight. Craig isn't exactly short and scrawny, but he feels like a dwarf next to Stan.

"I want you to shut your goddamn mouth, asshole." Stan hisses, shoving him again. This time Craig stumbles over a rut in the ground and lands hard in the dirt, kicking up a plume of dust. Stan sneers above him, cracking his knuckles.

"Get off your high fucking horse, Marsh." Craig spits, pushing himself off the ground. "You don't own this place. And neither do your blind little worshippers." Stan's eyes narrow and he folds his arms over his chest, inching closer and closer to Craig.

"My 'blind little worshippers' could kick your ass up and down the street, so I'd watch your mouth." Stan scoffs, his friends chuckling from behind him. God, this is like some terrible movie scene; this time, though, Craig isn't going to be the helpless nerd, the damsel in distress. He backs up a step, nearly slipping on the muddy shore of the lake. A light goes off in Stan's mind and he exchanges a glance with one of his friends, a sinister sneer pulling over his face.

"Maybe you'd learn to keep away from here if you went for a little dip."

At this, his three friends swarm Craig and pick him up by his arms and legs, dragging him over to the edge of the water. Craig kicks and yells, grabbing at them to try and get away. Stan laughs as he watches, joining them all by the water's edge.

"Let me go, you fuckers!" Craig shouts, thrashing and clawing at their sleeves. Stan rolls his eyes, grabbing the front of Craig's sweatshirt and shoving him under the surface. His glasses and hat slide off of him, sinking to the bottom. Water floods Craig's eyes and nose, bubbles spewing from his mouth. He feels himself beginning to clog with water as Stan brings him back up for air, his hair falling into his eyes. Then he's under the surface once more, sputtering and trying to heave air into his body. This only draws more water into his lungs, his eyes blurring and his nose burning. He can feel himself getting lightheaded, lights flashing in the corners of his eyes as he's held under the water. Stan moves his free hand and locks it around Craig's throat, further cutting his air supply. The bubbles slowly begin to stop rising as Craig closes his eyes, his grip loosening by the second.

Suddenly the light is blinding Craig as he's dropped on his ass, choking and spitting water into the grass. His ears are blocked and his eyes are blurry, but he can hear someone screaming and yelling. He's absolutely soaked. His whole chest was submerged, and every time they brought him up for made water splash onto everything else.

"What the fuck were you doing!? You could have killed him!" Kenny's voice breaks through Craig's fog and he looks around, confused. There he is, though, the sun casting a golden halo around his hair. Stan says something under his breath and stalks down the road, his goons following close behind. At once, Kenny is at his side, his hands hovering just above Craig's shoulders; like he's afraid that if he touched him, he'll shatter like glass. "You okay, dude?"

"Fine." Craig spits, still coughing as he paws around for his glasses and hat in the pond. He rushes to wipe the water from the lenses, squeezing his hat out as he stumbles to his feet. "Fuck off. I don't need you to take care of me." Kenny looks at him, silent.

Fuck. He can't go home like this. A bruise is already forming under his skin where Stan had a hold on him, and he's soaking wet. He doesn't have an excuse for this one. He chokes into his arm, wiping water from his face. At least he knows Tweek keeps a spare set of clothes at the shop for when he spills on himself.

"Is.. Is this what you meant yesterday? In class?" Kenny asks, his voice quiet. Craig freezes, his nails digging into the fabric. "..does this happen often, Craig?"

"Nothing. It's nothing you need to worry about." Craig says, turning on his heel and walking away. He needs to get away. Like hell he's going to let himself crack in front of Kenny goddamn McCormick.

By the time Craig reaches the Harbucks on Main Street, he's chilled to the bone, his teeth chattering from the cool autumn wind. Tweek freaks out and grabs him a clean shirt; thankfully, his jeans and everything are pretty okay. His ass is covered in dust, but that's an easy fix.

"Christ, Craig!" Tweek worries his lower lip, rolling it between his teeth in nervousness. "What the hell did you do!? It's w-way too cold to go swimming, man!" Craig can't help but smile at that, pulling his wet shirt over his head.

"Yeah, Tweek," he starts, the sarcasm in his tone clear. "I took a dive into Stark's and chickened out halfway." He hangs his sopping clothes over the back of one of the plastic chairs surrounding a small break table, wrapping a towel around his shoulders to block out the chill in the air. Tweek always keeps it freezing in the shop, no matter what the weather is like outside. The blonde hands his friend a clean shirt, leaning closer to examine his neck.

"W-Was it Stan again?" He asks quietly, unconsciously fiddling with the bandaids wound around his fingers. Craig won't meet his eye, looking everywhere but Tweek. "Craig, you c-can't let this keep happening. And it's been happening more and m-more."

"I'm not telling anyone about this." Craig says firmly, tugging the shirt on over his hair. He combs his fingers through it, shaking some of the water onto the towel draped over his shoulders. "It's not even that bad. And I can handle it on my own." Tweek sighs, having heard this a thousand and one times.

It wasn't always like this. With Stan. He and Craig used to be pretty good friends; everyone was, before high school. They went from being in this tiny elementary school to this tiny middle school, then they were smacked with a huge high school. Park County High combines the four surrounding towns: South Park, North Park, East Park and West park. On their own they're not that crowded, but put together it's massive. Everyone seemed to drift to their own corner, including the kids Craig grew up with. Thankfully, though, he's still close with the friends he had when he was a kid. Stan wasn't that lucky, and when his parents split for good when he was a freshman it really messed him up. He devoted his life to football and, apparently, beating the shit out of Craig.

"Can I at least g-get the full story?" Tweek asks, sinking into the seat beside Craig. The raven ponders this for a moment, running his piercing along the insides of his teeth. Craig relays everything that went on, from the moment he left his house to the shouting match between him and Stan to the little dip he took in Stark's.

"But, the weirdest part is who actually helped me out." Craig says softly, rubbing behind his ears with the towel. Tweek quirks a blonde eyebrow, fiddling with the apron's string around his waist. "Kenny. Kenny McCormick." Tweek's eyes nearly fall out of his head.

"W-What? What the hell was he doing there? Why t-the hell did he help you?"

"I have no idea, dude. One second I was, like, drowning and the next I heard him screaming and yelling at Stan. Calling him crazy and saying he was going to kill me."

"But.. He is crazy and h-he was going to kill you." Tweek points out, his expression flat. Craig rolls his eyes, looking down at the table.

"Don't be so dramatic. I don't think it would have gone that far..."

"F-First of all, I'm an actor. I'm supposed to be dramatic. And second of all, Craig, Stan is c-certifiably insane. I-It's a wonder he hasn't been kicked off the football team. Hell, I-it's a wonder he hasn't been committed." Tweek says, his brown eyes serious and firm. Craig toys with his fingers, picking at his thumbnail. Tweek sighs, opening his mouth to speak before Craig interrupts him.

"Can we just drop this now? Please? I'm soaking wet and I'm fucking exhausted, and I have the dinner thing tonight so I can't just go home and sleep- Oh, fuck. The dinner." Craig digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and stands, leaning on the table. He walks into the staff bathroom to examine his neck, his shoulders sinking when he sees the bruised skin just below his jaw. "My mom is going to freak out when she sees this!"

Tweek walks in behind him, whistling when he sees the thick line on his friend's neck. "That's one hell of a b-bruise, dude. Maybe Red can help you? Or Ruby? They both like to wear makeup, right?"

"Good idea. Except Red is pale as shit so it'll look stupid, and Ruby wouldn't lend me her good concealer if I paid her a million dollars and sacrificed someone to the gods on her behalf."

"Oh!" Tweek shouts, smiling widely. "I have an idea. Bebe's mom sells makeup, so she'll definitely have the right color for you. I'll t-text her to come here." He scoots out of the bathroom, moving to the main part of the store to retrieve his phone. Craig can't help but smile, scoffing and rolling his eyes. Tweek and Bebe have been together for about three years, since they started high school. Once the thing about Craig and Tweek being a couple died away, the blonde finally mustered up the courage to ask her out. Any chance Tweek has to bring his girlfriend into something, he'll take it. And, thankfully, Bebe is pretty awesome to hang around. Craig kinda ships them, and he's not the only one out of their friends to do so.

After a little while, Craig makes himself his favorite coffee- a caramel macchiato- and settles back in his seat while Tweek tends to a small band of customers that've arrived for the late afternoon rush. the blonde has said that Bebe was just going to gather some supplies and come over, so Craig estimates it to be about twenty or so minutes before she gets there. He fiddles around on his phone and listens to some music while he waits, drinking his coffee in a weak attempt to get his mind off things.

Tweek is right. It has been happening more and more, and he should tell someone about it. But.. He doesn't want to. This is by far the worst thing Stan has done to him, and the only thing that made him actually nervous. He chews on his nail, sighing as he rubs the knots out of his shoulders.

"It's that bad..?" Bebe asks, making Craig jump. She appears in the doorway of the staff room, a makeup case in one hand and her black cat-eye sunglasses in the other. Her red pea coat is buttoned up to her neck, a gray scarf spilling out from under it. She wears a curious and understanding expression, her deep red lips pressed into a line as she observes him. Since she and Tweek began dating, she developed a soft spot for Craig quickly; sure, he can seem a bit calloused at first glance, but he's really just a softie once she got to know him.

Blinking, Craig lowers his hand to his lap. "What do you mean..?"

"Please," Bebe mutters, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she sets her bag on the table. She pulls the scarf from around her neck and leans a bit closer to Craig to inspect the damage. "You bite your nails when you're nervous. You're not fooling anyone."

"Can you fix it, at least?" Craig asks, feeling impatient. He needs to know if he should invest in a turtle neck sweater, or maybe a thick scarf or something. Bebe nods, already rummaging through the makeup she brought.

"Of course i can. I'm a miracle worker. It'll be just like covering the dark spots under Tweek's eyes for picture day."

"That's how he does it?" Craig is constantly amazed at how Tweek can take better pictures than him every single time when he looks like he just rolled out of bed every other day of the year. He has a professional makeup artist at his fingertips.

"Hey," Tweek mutters from the doorway, frowning as he joins them at the table. "That was our secret."

"Oh, cry me a river," Bebe says, rolling her eyes. Tweek presses a kiss to the top of her head and a smile blooms over her face as she elbows him away. "Leave me alone. I have to work. And so do you; I just heard the bell."

Craig spends the next twenty minutes or so trying not to move his neck, as Bebe said it would screw up the makeup. By the time they're finished it looks as though nothing happened to him at all, and Bebe was sure to use a setting spray to ensure its longevity.

"And you're sure it won't totally suck?" Craig asks for what feels like the millionth time. Bebe folds her arms over her chest, sinking into one hip.

"How the hell do you think I look so goddamn amazing all the time? I use makeup. And guess what: I wear it for much longer than a few hours, dude. You'll be fine." She says, confident. Craig nods, looking himself over in Bebe's mirror. "Just don't touch it too much, and when you get home wash it off with soap and water."

"Thanks, Bebe."

"No problem, sweetie."

"The dinner thing went okay," Craig starts, his gray eyes trained on the red light blinking at him from the stack of books. "No one saw my neck, and if they did they didn't say anything about it. I'm not really sure what I'm going to do about it for school, though. I don't want to ask Bebe to fix everything. It would take too long, and I'm not even that conscious in the morning; I'm not sure I'd e able to sit still for that long. Maybe it'll be good enough to just wear a hoodie to school by Monday.

"Dad was late. Again. This is the fifth week in a row that he is. Mom's getting worried." Craig's father is hardly on time for the Saturday night dinners, but he has to work an hour away in Boulder so no one has thought much of it for a long time. Lately, though, he's been coming later and later. "I'm afraid it's going to get bad with him again. I really, really don't want that to happen."

The raven stares at the lens for a few seconds, his shoulders slumped and his eyes tired. He washed off the makeup in the shower, and the whole bottom portion of his neck is blotchy with black and blues. There's a few scattered ones on his wrists and arms that he discovered while he was showering, from where the football guys had a hold on him, but those were hidden by his sleeves anyway. Things like that are never hard to hide.

"What I really don't get is Kenny. I don't get why he was there at the perfect time, why he decided to help me. I mean, Stan has been his friend for a long time, right? A little part of me thought he would have joined in, but.. I guess I was wrong? I'm not sure. I just hope to god he doesn't keep bugging me about what happened. That would be the worst." Craig pulls his hat off of his hair and rubs it between his forefinger and his thumb, the worn blue yarn soft with age.

"I've gotta go now. It's getting late anyway. Over and out."


	3. Chapter 3

Just A Blinking Red Light

Chapter 3

Chapter Track: Spaceman by The Killers

"I just had the weirdest dream," Craig says softly, his voice groggy from sleep. Dark hair sticks up at every angle from his head, his shirt drooping off his right shoulder. He yanks it back into place as he rubs at his eyes and glances at the clock beside his bed, the yellow numbers flashing the time. 2:43 AM; he'll have to wake up in a few hours for school, though he doesn't feel like he'll be getting back to sleep anytime soon tonight. Sighing, he looks down at his lap, fiddling with his fingers, as his exhausted brain tries to gather the correct words. He's so tired. He's not the greatest sleeper to begin with, and the strange dreams that have been plaguing him since the incident at Stark's don't make anything any better.

"I think I may have been at a concert or something, I don't know. But it was really loud, and I was close to the stage. The music was really weird, I'm not sure if it's real or not. But the singers and the instruments were playing, like, weirdly haunting songs and stuff. Kenny was there, I know that. And I was getting swallowed up by the crowd, pushed further and further away from the stage. It was getting quieter the further I got, and colder, too. Then I felt someone grab my hand and realized it was Kenny. He pulled me back up to the stage, and everything was warm again..."

Craig lets himself trail off, staring vacantly into the lens of his camera. Everything seems strange, in the silence, in the dark. He doesn't like being awake now. It's the time after dusk but just before dawn- when everything looks dusty and gray, like a picture that refuses to come into focus.

Glancing out his window, his eyes glaze over his decaying backyard. The trees and vines are getting to be out of control, because no one really goes back there any more. They keep the lawn nicely trimmed, but other than that the whole space is forgotten. His whole treehouse has a curtain of ivy sheathing it from the world, the swings rusted and the plastic slide twisted to one side. He remembers when he was a kid, how he and his friends would spend hours upon hours in there. They used to collect fire flies and line the little jars along the floor, so they'd have light to tell stories by. Thinking about everything makes Craig feel hollow.

He rolls his gray eyes at himself, scoffing and shaking his head.

"This is so fucking stupid." He mumbles, leaning forward to click off the camera.

Craig wakes with a start at the bang that erupts from downstairs, his bloodshot eyes popping open as he jolts from his position against the wall. He never quite falls asleep when he wakes up from dreams like that- he usually just toes the line between being conscious and being unconscious until his alarm blares in his ears to alert him that it's time to get on with his goddamn life, no matter how tired he is. He checks the time on his phone, squinting at the bright light.

4:13 am.

Crap, that's not a good sign.

Slipping off his loft bed, he creeps to the edge of the stairwell that spirals down to the second floor. They disappear into blackness somewhere towards the bottom, and without his glasses Craig sees something shadowy and formless trying to crawl up to meet him. This isn't the first time something like this has happened. He knows he has to go downstairs, but he doesn't want to. He really, really doesn't want to, but it's always worse if he stays tucked away in his bed. The raven quickly swipes his glasses off the table beside the stairs and slides them on over his eyes, tugging his hat off the table as well, though he only shoves it into the pocket of his plaid pajama pants. It's not really serving its purpose indoors if he were to put it on, but he's always had it with him in situations like this. He always feels braver with it near him.

Craig doesn't bother flipping on the lights as he makes his way through the darkened house, knowing that if he does everything will be worse. After a certain point in the night, his father hates having all the lights on. It's well past that point, and Craig doesn't dare go against his wishes. Especially not on a night like this.

More bangs rise through the floor below him, making Craig speed up a little bit. He's suddenly grateful that his mom and sister are both heavy sleepers. If someone else wakes up, he's absolutely screwed. As he creeps down to the lower level of the house, he can see that there's light spilling into the hallway from the kitchen, where most of the noise seems to be coming from. He winces as a pot clangs to the floor, his father's booming voice following it.

"Who's there?" The man shouts, blocking the light. His shadow seems to stretch all the way across the room, and Craig fights the urge to run back upstairs.

"It's just me, dad," Craig answers, stepping onto the little square rug at the foot of the stairs. The man in the doorway seems to sway a bit, as though he's unsure of who spoke to him. His son steps a little closer to him, the faded blue hat finally stirring the thoughts back to life.

"Craig, what the fuck are you doing down here on a school night?" His father asks, his tone quiet and calm. This, somehow, makes Craig more uneasy. He can tell that his dad has had a few drinks; the liquor cabinet is still hanging open, a bottle and glass still out on the counter. When Craig doesn't answer, his father strides the rest of the way to meet him, trapping him in the hallway. He looms over his son, staring at him like he's a stranger.

The boy inherited his eyes from his father, and that seems to be the only thing he got from him. He's like a copy of his mother, to Thomas. He's got her sharp features, her long pointed nose and high cheekbones. They're both thin as a rail, though his mother was always on the short side while her son is nearly as tall as his dad, now. He stole her coloration, her fair skin and dark curly hair; though Craig's is shorter than hers was, he's let it grow out a bit. It's nearly to his collar now, and more wavy than curly. Thomas thinks idly about how he should cut it. Craig looks so much like her, it hurts Thomas to see him.

The man rests a hand on Craig's shoulder, and Craig's eyebrows pull together in confusion. His grip tightens as the rage boils suddenly inside him, and he drags Craig into the kitchen by his hair. His stupid fucking too-long hair.

He throws Craig against the counter and pushes him back, spinning him around and holding him by his wrist. Twisting his son's arm behind him, he leans down close to his ear, wrenching his wrist further and further between his shoulders. "What the fuck are you doing, coming out of your goddamn room in the middle of the night? Huh? You have school in the morning, don't you remember that?" He hisses, his voice cold. Craig squeezes his eyes closed, his whole body stiff with pain.

"Fucking look at me when I'm talking to you, you ungrateful little shit." Craig pulls in a deep breath before he opens his eyes again, a deep wince etched into his features. "Do you know what a fucking hassle you are, Craig?"

"Yes, sir," He answers, his voice wavering. This fucking hurts. It hurts a lot. Craig's hand feels like it's going to separate from his wrist and his shoulder is burning with pain, his hip smashed against the corner of the marble kitchen counter. God, he wishes he was anywhere but here. He knows if he just let his dad work it out himself, this would be happening to Ruby or his mother; that's the only thing that propels him out of bed on nights like these. His thoughts evaporate when he feels his father's fist careen off his ribs, and suddenly he's gasping for air when another punch takes the ability to breathe away completely.

Craig crumples to the floor as his father lets him go, his arms shaking as he tries to lift himself off the ground. Thomas grunts as he delivers a swift kick to Craig's hip, balling his fist in his dark hair as he leans down. The raven can smell the booze on his breath.

"Don't ever let me catch you out of bed on a school night again." He hisses, his words wavering in the air around them. Craig nods stiffly, feeling lightheaded when his father lets him go. "Get the fuck off my floor and go to bed." Craig shakily obeys, sinking into himself as he hugs his arms to his chest and scurries up the stairs.

Thomas watches him go, his whole being crumbling at the sight. Sighing, he rubs a hand over his face, setting his favorite whiskey in its proper place and closing the cabinet. He looks around his house for a moment before slowly ascending the stairs as well, feeling exhausted.

Craig never does fall back asleep, and when his alarm screams at him that it's time for school he barely reacts. He pulls jeans on over his boxers and blearily makes his way downstairs, sure to already be wearing his hat. He knows his father hates his hair; he's said it to him too many times on nights like those. And Craig knows his dad hates looking at him, even while sober. There's something in his eyes that screams that fact to the heavens.

The raven barely remembers to put one foot in front of the other on the way to school, thanking God that Tweek somehow knew to bring him a strong cup of coffee this morning. He's freaky like that, sometimes. He and Bebe look at him with concern, sharing a knowing glance between each other and mumbling questions at Craig, though they can tell that nothing is really sinking in. They just guide him to his locker, watching as he stares blankly into it before sluggishly gathering his books. Tweek finally breaks through the veil, shaking Craig's shoulder.

"Dude, what the hell is up with you?"

It just now occurs to Craig that he might seem a bit off, especially to someone like Tweek, who notices every little thing about everyone. He blinks up at his friend, his expression blank.

"Nothing." He says, his voice equally as flat. It's not like Craig shows much emotion anyway, but Tweek's green eyes widen slightly at the croaking sound that falls from his friend's lips. Craig never talks like that to him, and he hasn't since they were kids. Before the blonde can say anything else, the bell rings in their ears, signaling the fact that they all need to get to homeroom. Craig steps backwards away from his locker, leaving it hanging open as he floats down the hallway in a clouded daze. Tweek watches him for a moment, gently closing the door to his locker before Bebe pulls him towards the stairs.

Craig drifts into the boy's bathroom down the hall, feeling as though he's both high above the ground and weighted to the point of crushing holes in the floor with each footstep. There's someone in front of him, staring at him. Oh, shit, wait. That's him, in the mirror. His eyebrows furrow and he sighs, turning the sink to cold and bending down to splash some water on his face. He's got to pull it together; someone's going to call home, and that's the last goddamn thing he needs today.

He remembers the few times he went to the nurse because of his dad. For the first visits, he was able to explain away the cuts and bruises, saying he and Clyde got too rough in the gym, or he fell and hurt himself or something simple and meaningless like that. She's just patch him up and send him on his way with an ice pack. Then it kept happening, and she kept asking, and he kept denying. She called his house one day after he left, and it happened to be one of his dad's early days. That was the night mom had taken Ruby down to Boulder for a dance competition, leaving Craig and his father alone; he ended up at the hospital with a broken wrist and a fractured collarbone, under the guise that he fell off his bike. Needless to say, Craig didn't return to the nurse after that. What he does know, however, is that the staff is bored here. They'll do anything they think might help, or anything that might mean some drama to gossip about. It's been that way since he was a kid, and it'll stay that way for a long time. Craig finds it easier to just hole himself up in his bedroom and avoid all of it.

Craig stares at himself in the mirror, disgusted. He's always hated the way he looks, especially when he doesn't get enough sleep. The bags hanging under his eyes show almost as dark as the bruises along his neck, and his gray eyes are bloodshot. He's skinny and pale and overall unhealthy-looking, no matter what he does to try and combat it. And his fucking hair. He got his mom's goddamn hair. Some is poking out from under his hat, curling around his forehead and the nape of his neck. He snorts, pulling his hat off so it's hanging on his shoulders so he can tie his hair back.

The bathroom door swings open and Craig jumps, blinking at the blonde in the doorway. Kenny seems equally as surprised to see Craig, and they stare at each other for a moment before Kenny speaks, breaking the silence that fell over them.

"I, uh, I didn't know you had curly hair." He says quietly, rubbing the back of his neck through his hood. The glassy look in Craig's eyes is freaking him out, stirring something strange in his mind and in his chest. He can't put his finger on it exactly, but he definitely feels guilty looking at Craig. After Saturday, he wasn't able to get the raven out of his brain. He looks so... tired. Kenny knows that kind of tired, too well.

"Yeah. Why the hell do you think I cover it with my hat so often?" Craig mutters, looking around his wrists for a hair tie.

"It's not a bad curly. It's actually kind of hot." Kenny says with a shrug. The raven cracks a smile, rolling his eyes. Kenny can feel the knots in his body begin to loosen a little as he watches Craig finish tying his hair back. "It's way nicer than Kyle's. His just looks like a rat's nest a lot of the time."

"Did you just insult your best friend?" Craig chuckles, pulling a paper towel from the dispenser to dry off his face a bit. Kenny glances over at Craig from the urinals, an impish grin pulling over his expression.

"I'm not wrong, am I?" Craig finds himself laughing once more, the image of Kyle with rats crawling through his hair fueling his glee.

"I guess not, no." He admits, taking a long swig from his coffee. Kenny finishes up and zips his jeans, joining Craig at the sinks to wash his hands. The silence blankets them once again like fresh snow, though this time it's more casual than tense. Kenny watches Craig for a moment, his eyes moving over the sharp planes of his face. Craig glances over, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing." Kenny answers automatically, patting his hands dry on his jeans. His gaze falls to the floor for a moment as he tries to pull his words together. "I just, uh.. About Saturday?" Craig feels his mood sour instantly.

"What." Kenny almost wants to flinch away at the sound of Craig's voice, the change in tone so dramatic it's almost frightening. And it's not like Craig is a particularly scary guy. Tweet grew up to be scary as hell; super tall, well built, scruffy blonde hair, hooded eyes.. the kid looks like he's constantly ready to beat the shit out of everyone, now. Craig, on the other hand, has always just been more of a blank slate. He can definitely hold himself in a fight against the right person, but when he walks down the hall no one dives out of his way.

Right now, he looks like he wants to splatter Kenny all over the walls.

"I'm sorry," Kenny says, standing his ground. He sees a range of emotions flicker through Craig's eyes, though his stony expression never changes.

"I don't want your apology," He says monotonously, pushing past Kenny to get outside. He needs to get outside or he feels like he's going to explode. Or punch Kenny so hard he swallows his teeth. Or both. He's sore, he's exhausted, he's late for class. He's everything he fucking hates being, and some dickhole like Kenny trying to level with him is definitely not going to help anything. "I don't want anything to do with you or your Neanderthal friend, so don't even fucking try."

 _Fuck_. Kenny thinks, feeling panic creep up his spine and take hold of his lungs. He can't let Craig go! Acting on instinct, he reaches out and and tries to snag the elbow of Craig's sweatshirt, though he only pulls up the sleeve a bit. His blue eyes widen when he sees more bruises lining Craig's wrist, but the raven yanks his arm away and shoves out into the hallway before Kenny can get another word in.

Kenny can't Craig out of his mind after that. The bruises circling his wrist stick inside Kenny's brain like glue, mostly because he used to have some matching ones around his own wrist. He knows what a hand print looks like, and he definitely knows that those weren't there on Saturday; though he can't remember if Stan ever touched Craig's wrists, something in his gut is telling him that something else is going on. The blonde watches as Craig walks around all day in a daze, finally approaching him in English class.

"Craig, wait," He says softly, stepping in front of the raven on his way into the classroom. Craig just blinks at him, his gray eyes struggling to focus.

"What do you want." The words fall from his lips like rocks, and Kenny nearly flinches. God, it's worse than he thought. Clearly, Craig has gotten worse as the day wears on, what little energy he has draining with each passing moment. He's slept through nearly every class he's been to, leaving a pool of drool behind on his notebooks. Thankfully, he sits at the back of class for most of his classes, and this was they way he'd planned to spend the rest of his day.

"You look seriously exhausted." Kenny says, rubbing his arm as he leans against the wall beside the door. Craig rolls his eyes.

"Thanks for stating the obvious." He mutters, folding his arms over his chest with a yawn. Something occurs to him, breaking though the fog surrounding his brain: he doesn't want to be talking to Kenny right now. Or at all, frankly. Without another word, Craig turns on his heel and heads to his desk, his backpack hitting the ground with a thud as he slides into his usual desk.

He doesn't understand why people can't just leave him the hell alone. He's not exactly warm and fuzzy and inviting, even on a good day. Why anyone, let alone Kenny McCormick, would want to approach him today, especially since a corpse looks more alive than him.

He falls in and out of sleep in English, avoiding Kenny's worried glances the whole time until the bell jolts him awake, signaling that he can finally leave. Naturally, though, his teacher calls him over after class. A sickly warm feeling of dread washes over him; if she saw him sleeping, she'd send him to the office, and there would be a call home. she stares at him for a moment before sitting down at her desk, leaving him to stand awkwardly beside it.

"Craig, I have a favor to ask of you," Mrs. Dixon says quietly, smiling up at him with all of her perfect teeth. Craig suddenly feels self conscious of his own crooked ones. "Since you're one of the top students in my class, I was wondering if you'd be interested in some peer tutoring."

"Um.. Sure, I guess that would be okay." Craig says quietly, tying to keep focused.

"Perfect! He's in your grade, and he's agreed to meet once a week with you do the homework I assign." Craig blinks for a moment; did she say who he'd be tutoring? Or did he just blank out for a second and not hear her? As if reading his mind, she continues.

"You'll be tutoring Stan Marsh."

Craig feels a wave of sickness wash over him, nausea crashing over every part of his body. Mrs. Dixon just goes back to what she was doing, smiling as he drifts out of the room in a daze. He heads back to his locker immediately instead of going to his next class, texting his mom on the way that he feels sick and he'll need a ride home.

When he gets there, a small slip of paper catches his eye, the handwriting on it cramped and slanted. He struggles to focus on it, his thoughts swirling and tumbling over one another. It looks a little bit like Kenny's handwriting, or what Craig has seen of it at least.

 _Spaceman by the Killers_

 _Thought you could use a little bit of a pick-me-up, and Tweek told me how into space shit you are :)_

 _-Kenny_

Blinking in surprise, Craig peels the post-it off his locker and slips it into his pocket, leaning against the wall to wait for his mom to respond to his text.

"I don't know what to do," Craig mutters at his camera, pressing a hand to his mouth. He's actually taken the time to set it up on its tripod this time, in front of his window beside his bed. He can't sit still when talking about this. The name alone woke him right the fuck up, and he was jittery the rest of the day. The split second he got home he went right up to his bedroom to set up his camera, feeling the anxiety welling in his chest.

He doesn't know how he's going to survive this.

"I mean.. Nothing's ever happened between us at school, so it's not like they'd know about anything. And I'm not fucking about to tell them, that's for damn sure... I need a cigarette," He mutters, taking his hands through his hair. "Between how last night went and what happened with Kenny this morning, I feel like drinking until I pass out. And it's not even Tuesday." A bitter laugh falls from his lips as he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, leaning against his bed.

"I feel like I'm gonna throw up," He whispers, swallowing thickly. "I don't want to do this. I don't know what to do. I can't tell anyone about this; they'll wonder why I can't do it." Craig drags his hands down his face, covering his mouth as he pauses in front of the camera.

"Maybe… Maybe I can get Kenny to talk to Stan or something..? They're still pretty close, plus he helped me out on Saturday." Thinking of the blonde's name makes Craig recall the note he'd stuck to his locker; Craig never took it out of his jeans when he got home and changed into some pajamas. The raven walks over to the heap of clothes at the foot of his bed, rummaging through the pockets for a moment before finding the crumpled slip of paper. Biting the corner of his lip, he unfolds it and types the song into his phone, playing it through his speakers.

Of course Tweek would talk to Kenny. Tweek will talk to anyone and everyone about what he's worried about, and Craig can guess that Kenny spoke to him the moment he found him, especially after what he saw of Craig in the bathroom. Craig sighs again as the song begins to play, his nerves gathering into a heavy ball in the pit of his stomach.

"I'll… I'll figure something out." He says softly, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Over and out."


	4. Chapter 4

Just A Blinking Red Light- CH 4 III

Chapter 4

Chapter Track: Hello My Old Heart - The Oh Hellos

Craig returns to school the next day feeling more like himself, having gotten a fair amount of sleep during the day and being able to catch up on everything outside of himself for a while. He needed to get out of his own head, just be alone for a little bit. And, for now, he's been able to push the tutoring thing with Stan out of his mind; his English teacher said that they'd have to reschedule for Mondays after school, as that's the only day Stan doesn't have something going on. Since it's already Wednesday, he'll have to wait until next week- which is more than fucking okay for Craig. The last goddamn thing he wanted to do with what meager free time he has during the week was spend it with Stan, let alone doing anything that would help the guy. The last time he tried to do that, shit went south quick. He'll figure something out.

Eventually.

Craig pushes into the building and pulls his sweatshirt sleeves up to his elbows, adjusting his messenger bag at his hip as he shoves his phone and earbuds into the front pocket. He also managed to stay out of his dad's way completely last night; having gone home from school early, it was easy to just hole himself up in his bedroom for the rest of the night and not do anything that required human contact. It's always best to just stay away from him after nights like that. In all honesty, Craig is probably going to stay away from him for the rest of the week. He's not sure what his father remembers, if he remembers anything at all. It's usually the case that he forgets everything completely, or at least he pretends like he does.

And he has to be more careful about the bruising. While the ones on his neck weren't caused by his father for once, they are pretty suspicious; even Ruby pulled him aside to ask him about it. She stopped him before he was able to slip out to school that morning, her brown eyes boring holes into his skull as she questioned him. He just shoved her away and fixed his hood so it covered them, mumbling something about getting tangled up in his jersey at practice during a drill before slamming the door behind him. While it wasn't the best excuse it worked, as Ruby just trudged out after him without another word about it. She isn't stupid, and she's going to catch on eventually.

Craig's thoughts stop in their tracks when he gets to his locker on the second floor, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. There are three sticky notes on the door, all with the same loopy but cramped handwriting. Craig peels each one off methodically, running his thumb over the pen marks as he reads over them.

 _Hey dude here's another song_

 _Rainbow Veins by Owl City_

 _You looked like you could use a little pick-me-up :)_

 _-Kenny_

 _are you good? Haven't seen you since English_

 _-Kenny_

 _Tweek told me you went home, but you'll get these eventually lol feel better dude -Kenny_

 _Escape by Kongos_

Craig feels a sort of twist in the center of his chest as he reads the notes, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. That's.. That's actually really nice of Kenny to leave these for him. He kind of thought that he was just trying to be nice to him since they had to work together and after the incident with Stan, kind of like he was trying to bandaid the situation by being overly good to him in public. But this seems weirdly sincere of him, like he left all of these because he actually cared about what was going on with Craig- something completely separate from Stan and appearances and everything else that goes into being publicly nice. This is just between the two of them.

Crap, that means that Kenny cares about Craig.

The thought makes Craig's chest tie up in knots and his stomach do flips as he stacks the notes together and creases them once through the middle, sticking them in the front pocket of his messenger bag. The thought of someone caring about him leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He doesn't want anyone else to care about him. When people care, things get messy. Things get complicated. Things become harder and harder to explain away, and it hurts more when the people that care eventually leave. This can't continue. Craig will have to talk to Kenny to get him to stop, tell him that it was cute and fun for a little while but now it's annoying. It's distracting, it's irritating, it's unnecessary. He doesn't have to be nice to him anymore. They're done with the project, and Craig doesn't need Kenny watching over him like some white-trash angel or something. Whatever it takes to get Kenny to stop leaving him songs that he somehow always likes, even though they're far from what he usually listens to. And how Kenny has always smiled at him in the hallways, even before everything with Stan happened and he started leaving notes, even when Craig would scowl back. And how much he liked working with him on the English project. He has to stop leaving notes now. It's weird.

..then again, even though he refuses to admit it and knows that it's all a terrible idea, Craig kind of _likes_ the idea of Kenny caring about him. And it's not like the songs are exactly a bad thing, right? They're just songs. And Kenny smiles at everyone in the hallways. Plus, he's always been good in English; he's been in honors since freshman year, and always got high marks before that.

Pulling in a deep breath, Craig pulls open his locker and grabs the small stack of sticky notes he keeps there, digging for a pen in one of the pockets of his bag. As he's walking to homeroom, he slaps the finished note on Kenny's locker- even though the back of his neck is burning with blush and his brain is screaming at him that this is a bad idea. He's got a lot going on, so it's only fair that one of things could turn out how he wants it. It's only fair that one of those things turns out to be a good decision... Right?

Sinking into his seat in homeroom, Craig lets his bag slide off his shoulder beside his desk with a sigh, turning to Tweek and Bebe beside him. Their already hushed conversation slows to a stop as they both turn to look at him as well, his neutral expression souring. They quirk their eyebrows at him, and he knows what they're asking before they even speak. Eventually, it's Bebe who does.

"What was with you yesterday?" She asks, toying with the silver necklace she's wearing; Tweek gave it to her on their one year anniversary. She keeps a picture of them in it, along with a little yellow flower they found that night while walking along the bank of Stark's Pong. Craig stares at it as he tries to come up with a good enough answer, his eyes following the pendant as she slides it along the delicate silver chain.

He's not exactly sure how much they both know about Craig's home life. While he'd never in a billion years tell them what goes on behind closed doors, Tweek is good at reading him. Bebe is observant, and she tends to know shit about people before they know it themselves. Together, they could set up the most decorated spy ring on the face of the planet.

"Craig?" Tweek says, snapping his fingers in front of the raven's face. Craig blinks, smacking Tweek's hand away and scowling at him.

"Why the hell do you assholes care so much?" He mumbles, folding his arms over his chest and turning around in his seat.

"You can't just ignore us after that b-bullshit you pulled yesterday," Tweek starts, leaning across the aisle and tugging at his friends sleeve. Craig has been acting weird for a while, and it's not like Tweek is blind or something. He's noticed the frequent bruises and absences from school. A handprint around Craig's arm didn't fucking happen on the goddamn baseball field, or whatever field he happens to be on at the moment. He just wants to know if everything is getting worse with Stan or if there's something else wrong with Craig. He can't fucking lose him, too. The thought makes Tweek tug at his hair and bite at his lip, his mind running wild with visions of walking into Craig's room and finding him dead on the floor. Bebe rubs a hand over his shoulder, easing his fingers out of his hair and curling her manicured nails around his palm. Craig rolls his eyes, pushing his glasses up further on his nose before folding his arms over his chest.

"Hon," Bebe starts with a soft sigh. Craig's jaw tightens. "You don't just act like that out of the blue. And after what happened on Saturday.." She looks up at Craig, her green eyes scanning him up and down. It makes him shift automatically in his seat, tugging down his sleeves. "You know we mean well. We're worried about you, okay?"

"Guys, it's fine. I'm fine, Stan didn't break into my house and assault me, no one cornered me on the street, no one pushed me around in the hallways. Nothing happened. I woke up in the middle of the night and puked my guts out, came to school thinking it would be good. While I admit it wasn't the brightest idea, I didn't wanna miss class. I went home after English." Craig explains, folding his arms over his chest and turning to face them with a neutral expression. While it doesn't seem to satisfy them, it's what he's going with. He doesn't need more people hovering over him like he's some scared little puppy or something. He can take care of his goddamn self. They act too much like his parents, anyway. Tweek and Bebe share a long look before turning back to him, their expressions a bit more normal- though it seems a little forced.

"Was it a-another headache? I know how awful that s-shit is for you." Tweek asks softly, his eyebrows crinkling slightly. Craig feels another knot loosen in his stomach, the air around them turning back to normal as he shifts once more in his seat to face his friends. He pulls in a deep breath and shelves his anger, holding it in the back of his throat; the only thing that he'll accomplish if he lashes out at them is to make them more suspicious. He needs to act like what he had said was truth, like there's nothing out of the ordinary.

"Yeah, but it's okay now. My mom gave me some meds and it went away pretty quickly." He explains. Bebe still eyes him warily but moves on with their conversation, telling him about a party that Clyde is planning on having this weekend or something. He's not too sure he wants to go, but he promises that he'll think about it and get back to them at some point. Then the bell rings and they all go to their respective classes, the conversation forgotten.

In all honesty, Craig kind of forgets about the note he wrote to Kenny a little bit during the day, throwing himself into his schoolwork and looking forward to the photography club meeting and soccer practice he has after school. In recent years, he realized that doing a lot of after school activities keeps him out of the house, which in turn keeps him out of the line of fire some of the time. He also realized that if he puts himself in sports, he can explain away a lot of his injuries; he plays soccer in the fall, basketball in the winter and baseball in the spring. It keeps his mind off a lot of things, plus it's good for him to get out of the house and do shit with other people instead of talking to his camera all day. The rest of the day passes in pretty much the same way, with Craig goofing around with his friends at lunch and scribbling in the margins of his notebooks when classes get boring.

The end of the day comes quickly, and Craig finds that he didn't miss much in all of his classes. He did all the homework last night after he woke up from his nap, so he just needed the classwork. It's when he's back at his locker that he notices something is off; there's no return note from Kenny. The raven frowns, tilting his head at the forest green locker door in front of him before checking the floor below his locker, finding nothing. Hm. He spins the lock and pulls it open, rummaging in his bag for a moment before placing all the books he doesn't need onto the shelf in front of him.

It's a little weird that Kenny hasn't left any notes yet. Just because he's been doing it every day this week, a few times a day. He's almost... disappointed about it. Maybe it was a bad idea that he left one in return this morning. Maybe this whole thing was a big mistake. God, he knew he should've just told Kenny to stop leaving him notes, or maybe he should've just ignored it.

See, Craig has had this philosophy that he's lived by since he was a young kid: being boring is good. He's learned that being boring keeps you safe. Knowing what's going on in your life, knowing what to expect each day keeps you safe. You don't go to Somalia or the future or fucking Peru if you choose to be boring. And, besides, it's not boring to Craig. He likes making dumb movies with his friends and playing soccer and reading and chilling with his Guinea pigs. Its fun to watch his little sister's dance recitals and go to Jimmy's comedy shows and Token's debate matches and Clyde's football games. It's not boring to him, none of it is. It's just normal, and it's fun.

What isn't fun is getting your hopes up, then being let down.

Craig scowls at the shelves of books in his locker and slams it closed behind him, turning on his heel to head outside. Maybe this is for the best. Craig is better off by himself, just the way his life is right now. There's nothing wrong with everything, so why should he change it all up? At least he hasn't seen Kenny all day, so he doesn't have to look at his stupid face.

Wait, he hasn't seen Kenny all day.

The thought makes him slow to a stop on the side of the hallway, his brows furrowed. He scans through his memory of the classes of the day, not being able to recall Kenny being present in any of them. Craig automatically heads towards Kenny's locker down the hallway, knowing that he'd be there right around now to pack up his books. He spots him from across the corridor, and he ducks behind a group of sophomores for cover.

Kenny gently pulls Craig's sticky-note off the locker door, running his fingers over the handwriting. Craig can't see his face, but seeing this makes him feel weirdly warm. They both jump when Cartman suddenly appears beside Kenny, slamming his fist into the wall of lockers behind the blonde. Kenny scowls up at him, quickly tucking his note into the pocket of his worn-out parka.

"What." Kenny mutters flatly, frowning up at the brunette. Cartman rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his wide chest.

"Dig the sand out of your vagina, McCormick," He starts, quirking an eyebrow as he lets his eyes sweep over his friend. He reaches forward and yanks down Kenny's bandana before he can stop him, making Kenny yell and smack at his hand.

"Leave it alone, Cartman. I'm fine. I can handle myself." Kenny mutters, yanking his bandana back into place over his mouth and nose. Cartman rolls his eyes, waving his hand over Kenny.

"Yeah, looks like you did a great job, Ken. You seem really healthy and happy right now, way to go." He says, sarcasm dripping off of every word. Kenny's hands ball into fists at his sides. Cartman sighs, raising a hand to his temple and massaging tiny circles into his skull. He lowers his voice, his expression softening ever so slightly. "I told you to come over if shit gets bad, Kenny. You don't have to just sit and take it, or even sit and watch it."

"I don't need your pity, Cartman. I said I can handle it, and I can. So fuck off." Kenny hisses, slamming his locker closed and turning on his heel to storm out of the school. Everything is becoming too much. Everyone is too close, the air is being sucked out of the room. It all feels like it's closing in on him, and he bites down hard on his lip as he walks swiftly towards the front doors. Then he runs straight into someone, nearly falling on his ass and pulling down his bandana in the process. "Sorry-" he mutters as he looks up, locking eyes with none other than Craig himself.

They stare at each other for a moment, and Craig lets his gaze sweep over Kenny's face. A deep purple bruise streaks over his right cheek and a cut dribbles drying blood down over his eyebrow, his eye swelled slightly shut from the irritated skin below it. Another cut beside his lip is still leaking blood, a welt growing on his jaw. Craig feels his chest twist up in knots, and his breath hitches in his throat.

"Jesus Christ, Kenny," He mumbles, reaching forward to gently touch the bump on his chin. Kenny smacks his hand away, scowling at him.

"I'm fine." He blurts, though there's less conviction in his voice than when he'd said it to Cartman. Craig just stares at him then, his expression unreadable. Kenny pulls in a deep breath, swallowing thickly as he feels his resolve slowly crumble away the longer Craig stares at him.

"Let me help you." Craig says finally, his voice gentle and quiet. Kenny goes to object, but stops cold when Craig rests his hand on Kenny's arm. "It's not pity, it's payback. You helped me with Stan, I'll help you with this." He explains, rubbing his thumb over the crook of Kenny's elbow; the blonde feels himself melt a little bit as he nods. They walk in silence to the nearby bathroom, placing their backpacks near the door. Kenny sheds his parka and hops onto the counter as Craig digs in his bag for some supplies. He unloads some bandaids onto the sink beside Kenny, who watches him curiously out of the corner of his eye. This clearly isn't the first time he's done this.

"Why do you carry those?" Kenny asks softly as Craig wets a paper towel with warm water, squeezing it out over the sink. His gray eyes flicker up to Kenny's for a moment, shrugging.

"Tweek messes with his fingers a lot, and I like to keep them in case he starts bleeding or something." He says softly, only half lying. Tweek does pick at his hands when he's nervous, but Craig has used his fair share of these bandaids over the years. He turns his focus back on Kenny, raising the wet paper towel to gently clean the blood off his forehead. He tries his hardest not to press too hard as he smooths a clean bandaid over the cut over his eyebrow, not wanting to hurt Kenny any more than he already is. Something tells Craig that they share more in common than he once would have thought. Everyone knows that Kenny doesn't live the best home life- it's no secret. Since that stunt when they were kids, when the McCormick's ended up on that tv show, everyone knows about how shitty it is over there. At least, they thought they did; Craig didn't know they were physically fighting.

"...you run your tongue over your teeth when you concentrate." Kenny whispers slowly, without thinking about it. His voice draws Craig's gray gaze to his striking blue eyes. Jesus, they're really close together. Craig didn't realize how close he'd leaned in. He could count each and every one of Kenny's light freckles, could draw constellations and masterpieces between them. He pulls in a sharp breath.

"I- um... Yeah." He mumbles, sucking the corner of his lip between his teeth as his face flushes. "I started doing it when I had braces; I was self conscious of them, so I'd mess around with them." Kenny smiles slightly at this, though the feeling of numb sadness in his eyes never goes away. "Kenny..." He whispers, his voice breathy and far away. It makes the blonde's chest ache as he rests a hand on Craig's shoulder. Kenny feels him stiffen under his grip, and it makes his heart sink. He knew there was something more to those bruises. He knew it wasn't all Stan that day.

"Craig," Kenny whispers back, drawing the raven closer to him. He knows how Craig feels, and it feels like shit. Having to wonder about your safety whenever you go home. Wondering if you're going to get a full night of sleep, or have to deal with something worse. Worrying about your mom and your siblings and everything else that goes into living like this.

Kenny wants to make all of those feelings go away, if only for a little while. No ones ever treated him like Craig just did. They always seem to feel bad for him or something. Hell, Stan and Kyle treat him like he's their kid more than their friend. And Cartman isn't much better. He always thinks he has the answers, always thinks he can control Kenny's fate by making him do something new this time. Nothing new ever works. His dad is still overworked and pissed off and drunk, his mom is still gone, and his brother is still the drug addict that he's been since he was twelve. Nothing works, nothing makes it better. So Kenny has learned to just deal with it. There's never been anything he could do about it, so he's learned to live with it. He can tell that Craig is in the same situation, deals with the same problem. No one can wave a magic wand and make their problems go away, but they can learn how to make do. That's why Kenny didn't object to Craig, but practically blew up in Cartman's face; there was something there that Kenny has never seen in any other of his friends.

Craig runs his tongue over his teeth once more, and that's what makes Kenny lean forward.

Craig doesn't move when he feels Kenny's lips press against his own, his whole body stiffening and his eyes widening. The first thing he registers is the softness of Kenny's lips, and how gently they're resting on his; like Craig is glass, and Kenny is afraid to break him. Then he realizes how long Kenny's eyelashes are, and how there are barely-there freckles peppered all over his eyes. The last thing he realizes is that he wants this. He wants this so badly that he feels like his entire existence has boiled down to this one moment, this one little instance that makes everything else disappear.

Craig's eyes slowly drop closed as he responds to the kiss, stepping closer to the counter and resting his hands hesitantly on Kenny's hips. Kenny cups Craig's jaw, tilting his head and pulling the raven a bit closer. Craig has never been kissed like this before. It clears his mind, his body taking over as the temperature seems to rise around them. He can't think, all his thoughts replaced with a dull buzzing. But the buzzing has a name, and his mind repeats it over and over and over again- /Kenny, Kenny, Kenny, Kenny/... He runs his hands up and down Kenny's ribs, counting them over and over again as his fingers press into the spaces between them. Kenny flinches and he stops moving, pulling away to look up at him curiously.

Kenny keeps his eyes squeezed closed as he shakes his head, running his fingers through the hairs at the base of Craig's neck as he mumbles his curt response. "Bruises. Don't stop." His voice is low, and it makes Craig kiss him again with twice the ferocity. And, fuck, he loves it when people play with his hair. He loves it when Kenny plays with his hair. Craig slips his tigers under the hem of Kenny's jacket and shirt, running the tips of his fingers over the blonde's lower back. A shiver runs up Kenny's spine and he smiles against Craig's lips, letting go of a shaky breath.

They both jump a mile into the air when they hear the door open, revealing a freshman in a sweater and black-rimmed glasses. Craig propels himself away from the counter, his cheeks immediately flushing a deep red as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Kenny slides off the counter and swallows hard, his blue eyes wide. The freshman's face drains of color and he sputters apologies before hurrying out, the door clicking shut and bringing silence and reality back to the room.

Craig panics. He absolutely panics. Stepping towards the door, he picks up his messenger bag and shoves into the hallway, his heart pounding in his ears. He doesn't even hear Kenny's voice as he calls for him to wait. All he can think about is how much trouble he'll be in if someone finds out. If that little asshole freshman tells someone, and that shit gets around school.. Craig is totally fucked. The moment he hits the sidewalk outside Craig breaks into a run, his mind replaying the situation on a loop.

The feeling of Kenny's lips, how warm he was. How there's little flecks of green in the blue of Kenny's eyes, and how his freckles are all different shades of brown, gold and pink. How he's never kissed anyone like he's kissed Kenny, and how intoxicating it was. It was like everything else fell away, like the entire world boiled down to the two of them, to that moment.

Christ.. He's totally fucked.

When he gets to his house he's panting and out of breath, his chest heaving. He has to talk about this. He has to get to his camera. It feels like he's going to explode. It doesn't matter that he's missing soccer for the second time this week, or that he missing his photography club meeting. Nothing matters more than this right now. He flies up the stairs to his bedroom, barely able to set up his equipment before he's speaking.

"Something happened with Kenny," He says, his voice breathy and tight. It feels like his lungs are about to explode, but he lights a cigarette anyway, his fingers shaking as he moves. A terrible thought occurs to him and he stops short, his words caught in his groats as he flies to the window. Good. His dad's black Prius is absent from the driveway.

"Something happened with Kenny," He repeats, dragging his hat off his head and tossing it onto his bed. "Something.. Awesome. Awful. I don't really know yet. But I know I liked it, and I like him. A lot." He sighs, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I know this won't turn out well, I just know it…

"I guess I kind of always knew I.. wasn't straight. I also kind of thought that I would never act on it, at least not now. Maybe when I was out of the house or something… I don't know. I just know that dad will freak the fuck out if he suspects anything… that's why he left mom. She cheated on him with a woman, and he flipped the chuck out. Thought it was worse than cheating on him with a guy. I've met the woman moms dating, and she's nice, but.. They made it so much worse for me. Now, whenever he sees a gay couple or hears about stuff like that on the news, he-he gets this look on his face, this disguised look.. it makes me feel so scared, and dreadful. I'm dreading my future because I know that whatever I do, I'll disappoint him."

Craig pulls in a shuddering breath, biting the corner of his lips. "This sucks. This sucks so fucking hard. I really like Kenny.. He's so awesome. Like, he's always so nice and happy; I don't think I've seen him mad at someone in years. And, God, he can kiss. But.. I know I can't do anything with him, I can't start anything. It's a fucking suicide mission. The minute I do anything else with him is the minute I sign my fucking death certificate." Craig pauses again, pursing his lips and swallowing thickly, picking at his cuticle.

"…whatever. I'll figure this out, I guess. I'll just have to tell Kenny that I don't like him like that, that I'm not interested. It'll have to do. Over and out." With that, he reaches forward and shuts off his camera, watching the blinking light slowly burn out.

His bedroom door slams open and he jumps, nearly dropping his camera as he whips around to see who's in his room with a frown. His sister, Ruby, stands in his doorway, her brown eyes wide.

"You like guys?" She shouts, her expression unreadable. Craig feels the color drain from his face, his blood running cold.

"Um.."


End file.
